


Introduction

by raregloves



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, POV Greg, Sibling Incest, pre-ASiP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 04:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2637218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raregloves/pseuds/raregloves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock introduces Mycroft as his partner.</p><p>It's months before Greg discovers that they're brothers too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: holmescest. where John or Greg (or both??) find out that Mycroft and Sherlock are lovers before they find out they are brothers. "This is my... husband, Mycroft." epph i just find that reallly cute

Sherlock was in the cells. Again. Greg had been called in to deal with him (he’d had a worrying premonition- would he soon be the recognized Sherlock expert?) and found more or less exactly what he’d expected. Disorderly conduct, Sherlock coming down from a truly gigantic high and picking a fight with a man twice as tall and thrice as wide as Greg himself. 

Thankfully Sherlock hadn’t had anything illicit in his pockets. He did, however, have a very bloody nose and a badly strained ankle.  
  
Greg was sitting in his office (a slightly enlarged cubicle, as he was yet to be promoted) staring glumly at his computer screen. He’d have to go down and deal with Sherlock soon, but he didn’t relish the thought.   
  
It was through hard earned experience that Greg knew that Sherlock was always at his most foul when he was coming down. His deductions were always their most personal, and least flattering, when his body was racked with the loss of the drugs in his system.  
  
Drugs, plural, Greg thought. What a mess. He’d been married only two years and Sherlock was already predicting how it would end.  
  
‘Lestrade? Are you still with us?’  
  
Sally was leaning against the wall of his cubicle, arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed. She looked, thankfully, more sympathetic than exasperated.  
  
‘I think so,’ Greg replied, voice rasping. ‘Christ.’  
  
‘It’s that Holmes junkie again, isn’t it? Skylock or something.’  
  
‘Sherlock, yeah.’  
  
She sighed. Greg glanced up at her from under his eyelashes, still half-expecting a lecture. He wouldn’t blame her, honestly. He didn’t believe that Sherlock was a lost cause- he was too brilliant for that- but on nights like these it was hard to remember what had made him take Sherlock under his wing.  
  
‘I’ll get Phillip to get you some coffee,’ Sally said, sounding resigned. ‘He’s got nothing better to do, and you could use it.’  
  
‘Thanks, Sally. You’re a true blessing.’  
  
She left. Greg rubbed at his eyes, which felt gritty and sore. He thought of his bed, and of the fight he would inevitably have with Laura when he returned home hours late yet again…  
  
A shadow fell over his desk. Greg held out his hand, muttering his thanks to Sally, but instead of a warm cup of coffee an unfamiliar, posh voice answered.  
  
‘I’m afraid I’m not Sally, nor do I have any coffee. I’ve come to see you about Sherlock Holmes. I understand you’re the resident expert.’  
  
The man sounded skeptical. Greg looked up at him, alarmed. The man was wearing an expensive suit and an insincere smile Greg associated with lawyers. Christ, he’d known Sherlock was rich, but this?  
  
‘You’re Sherlock’s lawyer?’  
  
‘Certainly not. I’ve come to collect him.’

‘Rather you than me,’ Greg said, and for a moment he thought the mans smile was genuine. ‘But I’ll need to know who you are, all that sort of thing. The paperwork around Sherlock, you wouldn’t believe-’  
  
‘I could believe,’ the man said. ‘I truly could. My name is Mycroft, and these are my credentials.’  
  
He passed a piece of paper to Greg, and from the weight and texture of it even Greg could tell this was no flimsy, office paper, but something expensive and official. He scanned it, felt his eyes widen against his will.  
  
‘Christ,’ he said. ‘Sherlock’s not in trouble, is he?’  
  
‘No. Well, no more trouble than the trouble you know about. Is he hurt? I understand there was a …scuffle.’  
  
‘Nothing serious,’ Greg said. ‘Bloody nose, twisted ankle. Lucky bastard.’  
  
‘Indeed,’ Mycroft said. ‘May I collect him, then? I’m a rather busy man.’  
  
‘Right,’ Greg said, hesitating. He didn’t want to let Mycroft walk all over him, in fact it rankled violently, but he wasn’t about to risk his job (for all he knew, his life) just to stop the man from removing Sherlock from his cell. It would, at least, get him home a little sooner. Save him from the worst of Sherlocks deductions.  
  
‘Fine,’ he decided. ‘Follow me, then.’  
  
Mycroft followed him politely all the way down to the cells. It was barely calmer than it had been upstairs: two men in opposite cells were having a loud, drunken argument about football.   
  
Greg and Mycroft ignored them, Greg leading the way to the very end cell. He peered through the little viewing window. Sherlock was lying on the (extremely uncomfortable) cot as if it were a throne. His face still had blood on it.  
  
‘Sherlock,’ Greg called, and Sherlock looked around, his eyes flashing. ‘I’m going to let you out now. You’re being collected.’  
  
Sherlock stood up. He was steady on his feet and approached the door swiftly, peering past Greg to see who was with him. His face didn’t change when he saw Mycroft, though he nodded, standing back.  
  
Greg opened the door. Sherlock walked out, giving him a thoughtful look as he did so.  
  
‘So you’ve met Mycroft, then,’ he said, voice rasping a little. ‘I wonder how he introduced himself? Hmmm.’   
  
Sherlock looked between him and Mycroft, who was frowning slightly.   
  
‘Sherlock-’ Mycroft started, but Sherlock just laughed, his mouth curling into a smile.  
  
‘I see, so you _didn’t_ introduce yourself properly,’ Sherlock said. ‘How rude. Where have your manners gone? Greg, meet Mycroft, my partner.’  
  
‘Your- what?’  
  
It wasn’t very eloquent, but Greg couldn’t help that. He couldn’t imagine a less likely couple. This posh, well dressed, probably rather dangerous man, with the irreverent, drug addicted, currently unemployed Sherlock Holmes.  
  
‘Yes,’ Sherlock purred. ‘My significant other.’  
  
Mycroft looked as if he wanted to throttle Sherlock, which alarmed Greg until Greg remembered that Sherlock had, in fact, been rushing about London high and getting into fights.   
  
‘Well, ok,’ Greg said. ‘Good to know you have someone to take care of you. I’d like to see you down here a lot less. _A lot_ , understand.’  
  
‘Fear not,’ Sherlock said, smiling so widely that Greg could almost see his back teeth now. ‘Mycroft will _take care of me_ , be sure of it.’  
  
That sounded sinister to Greg, but Mycroft merely rolled his eyes, expression pained. Sherlock linked their hands together, looking obscenely pleased with himself.  
  
‘Right, get out then. Both of you. I want an early night.’  
  
He waved his hands at them, exasperated. Sherlock’s love life was none of his business, especially when he was working so hard to keep his own from floundering.   
  
When he returned to his desk, he found a cup of coffee, already nearly cold.

 

~

 

Greg saw Mycroft a few times over the next few years. Once more to fetch Sherlock from a cell, and thrice at Sherlock’s flat. The second of those times had been the most awkward- he had walked in on them kissing, Sherlock’s hand sliding up under Mycroft’s shirt.  
  
They had both gone comically pale when the door banged open, and for a moment all three of them had stood frozen. Greg had felt all the blood in his body rush towards his face.  
  
‘Sorry. I’ll come back in, just a sec.’  
  
He stepped back, closed the door, and knocked this time, giving them a chance to prepare themselves. He heard Sherlock laugh, a slightly hysterical laugh, and Greg had rolled his eyes. Honestly.

 

~  
  
Greg got his promotion. He had an actual office now, and he could focus on the most interesting cases, assemble his own team. He promoted Sally, and if he was well-behaved, he called Sherlock in on unusual murders.  
  
Sally didn’t think much of that, but he was the boss, and he’d decided long ago that Sherlock’s abilities to solve murders was more important than, well, almost anything.  
  
One of the perks of his improved position was that, now, he had greater access to various important files. He no longer had to seek permission to search certain important people, no longer had to wade through quite so much red tape.  
  
On a whim, one day he decided to search Sherlock.  
  
It came up with more or less exactly what Greg had expected. Drug use and possession, disorderly conduct, breaking and entering, loitering. It seemed Mycroft had worked him out of official charges quite often, however.  
  
And because he was thinking of Mycroft, his eyes were caught by his name, sitting somewhere at the top of Sherlock’s file. Where, to his bewilderment, Mycroft was listed as Sherlock’s brother.  
  
Greg blinked, as if blinking would change the word on his screen. Brother. Mycroft Holmes, brother… It must, Greg told himself, be a mistake. Somebody had been careless, put Mycroft down as a relation instead of a spouce.  
  
Still, it was unusual for a mistake this big not to be picked up. And they weren’t brothers, Greg had seem them kissing, little though he relished the memory.  
  
He picked up his phone, hesitating.  
  
‘Rachel?’ Greg said, when the phone was picked up. ‘Have you got a free moment?’  
  
‘Yes, though this better not take longer than an hour. I’ve got a date.’  
  
‘Good for you,’ Greg said. ‘Listen, I just need you to check for errors in a file. Holmes, Sherlock. Pretty distinctive name.’  
  
‘Errors?’ Greg could hear Rachel frowning. ‘We haven’t had any serious errors in months, not since I fired Jared… is it serious?’  
  
‘I don’t think so,’ Greg said, keeping his voice as casual and friendly as he could. ‘Nothing to do with the actual arrests. Just look at date of birth, relations, that type of general information. Shouldn’t take long, should it?’  
  
‘Nope,’ she said, and Greg could hear her typing. ‘What was the name again? Something Holmes?’  
  
‘Sherlock. Call me back when you’re done.’  
  
‘Will do.’  
  
‘And enjoy your date,’ he added. Rachel laughed before hanging up.  
  
Greg tried not to think about Sherlock or Mycroft over the next hour. That didn’t turn out to be too difficult, as he was overrun with rather complicated paperwork of his own. He drank two cups of coffee almost without thinking about it.  
  
When the phone did ring Greg jumped, then lunged for it. He glanced towards the door, just in case somebody was listening in. But nobody was paying him any attention, and it wasn’t like he was going to shout the conversation at the top of his lungs. His heart was beating rather faster than normal and he thought, fleetingly, of how terrified Sherlock and Mycroft had looked when he’d interrupted them...  
  
‘Well, Rachel, any news for me?’  
  
‘Not really. Everything seems perfectly correct. Date of birth confirmed easily enough, brother Mycroft six years older, dropped out of university, no charges pressed despite all his arrests which seems a bit odd, but everything is correct. I’d bet my life on it.’  
  
‘Ok,’ Greg said dully. ‘Enjoy your date then.’  
  
He felt as if a heavy rock had dropped into his stomach. Rachel was the best of the best, and if she said they were brothers then they were. But he’d seen them kissing with his own two eyes, seen the fear on their faces as he’d pushed the door open. Greg suddenly wished he hadn’t drunk so much coffee. He felt a little ill.  
  
What on earth was he going to do when, inevitably, Sherlock was required for one of the more impossible cases that now came his way? He could act as if nothing had happened, but Sherlock would probably be able to deduce it…  
  
Would it ruin their- well, not friendship, but amicable working relationship? Would (and the thought sent something cold shooting down Greg’s spine) Mycroft have him disappeared? After all, Mycroft was an important man, he couldn’t have Greg knowing something this illicit, this important, not that he had any proof to arrest them with…  
  
Arrest them with? Greg shook his head, feeling as if he had water in his ears. He wasn’t going to arrest them. Not if he could help it anyway… it was consensual, as far as he knew (but how old had they been when it started, if there was a six year age gap?) Greg put his head into his hands.  
  
He wasn’t going to arrest them. But he felt certain that when Sherlock next saw him, Sherlock would know that he knew.

 

~

 

Greg got drunk that night. Laura was out with her sister and he felt he’d earned it. He kept thinking about the way Sherlock had slid his hand into Mycrofts hand. How much easier he had been to deal with compared to how he usually was when he was coming down from a high. How exasperated but fond Mycroft had looked, and how pleased Sherlock had been with himself.  
  
They didn’t look like brothers, Greg thought. He wasn’t an idiot for not seeing it before. Apart from the same pale, calculating eyes they looked very little alike.  
  
He opened another can of beer. He wasn’t being paid to contemplate this shit.

 

~

 

The next time he had to call Sherlock in for a case was a month and a half after Greg had discovered the truth. The crime was serious enough that Sherlock’s sex life was pushed to the back of his mind.  
  
This was something of a relief. He valued Sherlock’s mind, and his help. Greg had no desire to be so caught up in Sherlock’s private life that he wasn’t able to work with the man, after all.  
  
He thought he was being very mature about the whole thing, and very subtle.  
  
As Sherlock proved to him the moment the case was over, however, he’d been wrong.

  
  
~

 

He was at his desk, examining his fingernails. He was pretty confident he’d worked all the blood and grim out from under them, but he wanted to be sure before he went home to Laura.  
  
Greg didn’t notice Sherlock had walked into his office until the door closed.  
  
He looked up, smiling, prepared to be perfectly happy with Sherlock since the case was over, and had ended well despite the grime and gore. The look on Sherlock face, however, made Greg pause.  
  
‘You ok?’  
  
‘I was going to ask you the same thing.’  
  
Sherlock’s voice was deeper and harsher than usual. It was always surprising, how deep Sherlock’s voice was. What with his plush lips and curly hair, Greg often forgot that he wasn’t softly spoken.  
  
‘I’m fine, Sherlock. Better than fine, actually, since we finished the case.’  
  
‘But you’re acting strangely. Around me. You don’t look at me for as long as you used to, as if you’re afraid of being caught staring. You’re not attracted to me, that much is obvious. So what’s going on?’  
  
‘I…’  
  
Greg didn’t know how to say it. Should he just blurt it out? Lie?  
  
‘Don’t lie. I can see you thinking about it, and I assure you I’ll know if you do.’  
  
‘I know,’ Greg said, simply. ‘About Mycroft and… and you.’  
  
Sherlock, though always pale, seemed to turn a delicate shade of grey. Greg watched him steadily, wondering what exactly he was going to do next. He was prepared for almost anything, really- pleading, threats.  
  
‘How long have you known?’  
  
‘Over a month.’  
  
‘And…’ Sherlock paused, eyes fixed on him. ‘You didn’t do anything? You still called me in on the case?’  
  
‘I value your help. And you, come to that. I don’t… Look. I’m not going to arrest you. I don’t fancy Mycroft’s reaction, for a start. But there is one thing I’d like to know, an honest answer, and then we will never speak of it again. Ever. Ok?’  
  
‘Ok,’ Sherlock said, without hesitation. ‘Ok.’  
  
‘How…’ Greg swallowed. He didn’t want to ask, had to force the question past his lips. ‘How old were you, when it started?’  
  
‘I- twenty. Twenty. And I initiated, if that helps.’  
  
Greg held up his hands, wincing.   
  
‘Nope, no more details than that, thanks. The less I know the better for everyone. Now go home and sleep before you pass out, you look ghastly.’  
  
Sherlock nodded, turned towards the door. Greg realized he’d been holding his breath and quickly stopped. Sherlock hesitated with his hand on the door handle, looking over at Greg as if he wanted to say something.  
  
Greg shook his head, smiling a little. Sherlock nodded, and left.

**Author's Note:**

> You can send me a prompt on my tumblr- I love rare pair fic :)
> 
> raregloves.tumblr.com


End file.
